


The Strength of Strings

by havisham



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Backstory, Bechdel Test Pass, Coming of Age, F/F, Mirkwood, Unapologetic and Frequent Use of Original Female Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tauriel was of age, and no one could dispute that she knew her own mind, and her own heart. And without being too vain about it, she knew well her own attractive qualities, to wit: her face, her hair, and the ruthless yet graceful way she killed Orcs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Strength of Strings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elleth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleth/gifts).



Tauriel’s hair was tangled and mussed. Her mother tutted over it gently. “If you insist on running around with it loose, you mustn’t be surprised to find tangles,” she said, as she undid a particularly knotty one. Tauriel squirmed in her seat and kicked impatiently at the chair in front of her. Her brother, who happened to be sitting there, turned around and scowled at her. 

“Naneth, tell Tauriel to stop,” Laerion said, not bothering to keep the whine from his voice. Tauriel sniffed. Imagine carrying on like that when you were of age! She was sure that she should never act like that when she was as old as her brother. 

Her mother only sighed and told her to stop squirming. Finally, it was done, and Tauriel’s hair was neatly braided, the shining auburn color gleaming in the candlelight. Tauriel slid off her mother’s lap and got her bears. 

She touched her braid thoughtfully. “Nana.”

“Hm?” Her mother had gotten up and was cleaning the brush. Laerion had gotten up and stolen away before she could give him a chore to do, but she looked at her young daughter with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. 

“My hair...” 

“What about it, Tauriel?” 

“They -- Nellas and Lengwen, and the rest, said that only the Golodhrim have hair like mine. And all of those who had it are dead. But I am not dead, and I am not like them!... Am I?” Her voice dropped into a whisper and she shuffled her feet, suddenly sorry she had brought any of this up. 

Her brother had black hair, as did her father, and mother’s hair was so dark as to be black -- except for the rare times when she would be in the sun, and then her hair would take on a ruddy glow.

Her mother seemed to consider this, and then dusted off her lap. “Come on,” she said, holding out her hand. Tauriel took it, and they went off, out the door and down the halls to the kitchens. It was hot there, and Tauriel felt a slight prickling of sweat forming on her forehead. On the spit, an enormous boar roasted, a prize that the hunters had brought in that morning, Tauriel’s father among them. 

Tauriel was given an apple, wrinkled but sweet (it was winter now, and fresh fruit graced only the king’s table, imported from Gondor) and she gnawed on it as she watched her mother talk to one of the cooks, Gurlith. They both looked over to her, gazes sharp, and Tauriel did her best to look as innocent as possible. 

Soon, they were off again, the hallways growing more and more crowded as they made their way to the great hall. The high table sat empty, but the musicians had already set up and begun to play a lilting tune that Tauriel did not quite know. There were other, more familiar sights, however. There was Laerion, standing at the back with a few young bucks. He looked a little dismayed to see them, but before any communication could pass between the three, a young nobleman’s loud and braying laughter drowned it out.

They crossed the hall slowly, as it filled with people in a festive frame of mind. Tauriel waved to her aunt, Midhwen, who was in middle of telling a story to a group of warriors from Lórien. Midhwen waved back cheerfully, and went back to her story. 

“Look there,” said Tauriel’s mother, gesturing to where the envoy from Imladris was seat. Unlike the crowd around them, they were seated, and dressed in somber robes, better suited for an afternoon in the library than a feast. They talked mostly to themselves, though often they shot little disbelieving looks at the crowd of revellers. 

“Those are Golodhrim, little one,” Tauriel’s mother said. “Now, do they look so different than everyone else?” 

Tauriel had to concede that though they were a little stiff and uncomfortable (one looked up and stared as if he had never seen a chandelier made entirely out of antlers before), but nothing about them was as freakish as Tauriel had feared. 

And looking at their dark heads, none of them had anything like Tauriel’s own bright hair. 

*****

Still, the matter still rankled, much later, when she was put to bed. She could hear her parents’ low voices talking in another room. Someone -- her father -- laughed, and her mother said something else. Tauriel pulled the covers over her head and sighed. The cot next to her’s -- Laerion’s -- sat empty, he had not come back from the feast. The room felt too quiet now. She would have welcomed Laerion’s snores! 

As if in response to her thought, a soft knock came from the door, and it opened, letting in a warm yellow slice of light. Her mother’s dark head obscured some of it, and she called softly. “Are you asleep, Tauriel?” 

Not caring if she sounded very young, Tauriel said yes. Her mother made her way to Tauriel’s bedside, stumbling a little when her foot caught the string of Tauriel’s toy bow. She shook her head, ruefully, and reminded Tauriel that she ought to put her things away.

Tauriel nodded, eager to have her mother start her story. Soon, she had her mother’s cool hand on her forehead, running her fingers through Tauriel’s now-loosened hair. “What if I told you something no one here knows? About our family, I mean.” 

 

Tauriel cocked her head -- a difficult task with her mother’s hand still in her hair -- and said, “What is it?” 

“You know that your great-grandmother once lived in Ossiriand, a land of many rivers, in Beleriand before it sank.” 

“Yes, I remember,” Tauriel said, for she always paid attention to her lessons. 

“She was married there,” Tauriel’s mother said, “to a Golodh, who had come into her woods and -- as arrogant as they can be -- demanded that her people teach him all he wished to know.” 

Tauriel wrinkled her nose. “Why did she marry him, then?” 

“Perhaps she liked the look of him, for she was young then, and newly come to her position as the chief of her people. She liked how bright his eyes were, and how curious he was. And she liked especially how the color of his hair was very much like hers. She said they were like kindred, long sundered.” 

“And then what happened?” 

“She left before the final blow could fall,” Tauriel’s mother said. “Our family has always been the particular sort.” She tucked her daughter back into bed and Tauriel sighed. 

Suddenly suspiciously, Tauriel said, “But is this true, Nana?” 

“Would I ever lie to you?” Quickly, her mother kissed the top of Tauriel’s head. “Dear heart! All you need to know is that your hair is as a beautiful as you are, and furthermore, it has no effect on what you do or who you choose to be. Let no one tell you differently. Now sleep.” 

 

 *****

It was dark still, and the forest, a filigree of moonlight and shadows - and the shadows far outnumbered the moonlight. _Be still, still, be still_. Tauriel tensed, though her heart beat so loudly that she grew half-afraid that all could hear it. But Orcs had no great sense of hearing, and her companions were absorbed in their own preparations. But still, Lothwen caught her gaze. She did not smile so much as lift her lips until they pressed into a faint upward curve. 

Before Tauriel could return it, the still night exploded into the noise, ringing with the satisfying thwack of an arrow finding its home, and the shouts of the orcs. Soon, too soon, it was over, and they left the bodies of the Orcs for the spiders. 

Tauriel almost skipped on the way back home, though she received some sly ribbing from the veterans because of it. No matter, that did not stop her from performing a few discreet cartwheels just before the palace came into view. Lothwen was there in the hallway near the entrance to the baths. They did not speak, but as the line grew shorter, Lothwen touched her hip and smiled, a true smile that lit up her face. 

“You did well on your first patrol,” she said. 

“Yes,” Tauriel said, radiantly happy, “I know!” 

*****

Lothwen’s hair was dark and straight, slippery in Tauriel’s hands. It was her skin that gave her her name, white as a lily, with freckles like dusting of pollen, the color of cinnamon from the south of Harad. With a scent that brought to mind warm fires, that made her mouth water. Tauriel, never very shy, still marveled at this -- that she should be allowed this, that she could touch her, after years of wishing, of pining, hopeless, helpless. 

Well. Perhaps it was never quite hopeless, and she was never helpless. Tauriel was of age, and no one could dispute that she knew her own mind, and her own heart. And without being too vain about it, she knew well her own attractive qualities, to wit: her face, her hair, and the ruthless yet graceful way she killed Orcs. 

Tauriel laughed aloud and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. The explanation to why Lothwen should choose her -- over everyone else she could have chosen -- was simple enough, no doubt. Even after Tauriel’s training was over, she and Lothwen had been thrown together often enough, and found that they worked well together. And by dint of their occupations and personal inclinations, they had grown closer over the years until, one day, they became lovers on top being friends and sisters-in-arms. 

In truth, Tauriel had never asked Lothwen why this should have come about. It had felt so natural. It was certainly not because she was afraid to ask -- never afraid! -- of the answer, but because.... 

Lothwen looked up, the pale line of her throat an invitation. She smiled, and beckoned.

… It wasn’t necessary. 

Tauriel sat down, facing her and listened as she hummed a tune, old even before the Sun first rose. Her eyes were closed when Tauriel leaned forward to kiss her. She tasted of the light, white wine they drank in summer, faintly green with bubbles almost too small to see. 

Lothwen opened her eyes, and they were as old and as canny as the rest of her. She had been born in Doriath, ere it fell, and she had been with Oropher in Dagolad, and had lived, when he had died. There was an old, puckered scar on her left shoulder where an arrow had gone through there. Tauriel pressed her mouth against it, and Lothwen murmured something wry, a joke that went unheard. 

“What’s that?” Tauriel lifted her eyes and met Lothwen’s eyes, which glittered with amusement.

“Have I taught you nothing, that you should be so distracted by a flash of skin?” she said, her voice smooth and rich, and she pressed forward, her skin smooth and hot. Tauriel caressed her breasts and sighed. 

Lothwen grinned like a cat, and pounced. 

 

 *****

The dragon’s fire scorched the air over their heads, and on the retreat from Erebor, they lost many soldiers. We are like ants to him, Tauriel thought, as she scanned the horizon for a hit of the beast. There was nothing but the wide plain and the sky, clouded by steam and smoke. Tauriel longed for the security of trees overhead, though she knew well though that was an illusion at best. 

The open sky provided none of that illusion. 

Tauriel wondered how her lover fared -- the last she had seen of Lothwen had ridden off to help the tide of refugees from Dale, after after a fierce argument with Thranduil. She would provide them what protection her bow offered, at least. 

Tauriel herself had wished to go with Lothwen, but a sharp look from the king held her back. She watched the back of his head, and wondered what he could be thinking. 

She had only been to Dale once or twice, and Erebor only once, as a part of the king’s guard. She had marveled at what the dwarves had made, though, of course, no one asked her opinion, least of all the young dwarf-prince who watched them all with such distrustful eyes. And only hours before, she had seen the same prince call to her king, for aid, and he had been refused. 

Tauriel knew why Thranduil had done it. Their force was not large enough, nor well-equipped enough to prevail against a full-grown dragon. 

They were not the heroes of a dead age. 

They were a shrinking people, in a dangerous time. 

They had to be practical. 

The dwarves fought because they had to, because Erebor was their home, but the elves had a choice, and that choice had been Thranduil’s to make. And he had chosen not to help. 

Tauriel thought of Lothwen, in danger now, of Oropher, long-dead, and the cost of helping. The dark line of the forest loomed ahead, miles ahead, though she could see it. It swam like a miasma in her vision, doubt tied itself around her heart, and refused to leave. 

 

 *****

Laerion was the first to greet her when she returned home. He embraced her, his arms floury and strong, and Tauriel laughed despite herself, and dusted off her shoulders, once he had let her go. Laerion always smelled of baked bread. He said quietly, “If you want, I could ask Galion for an extra bottle of wine tonight and put it in your room.” 

Tauriel was touched by the gesture -- she and her brother had never been especially close, even when they were young -- and she accepted it, as a matter of course. Galion’s wine was always the best, and never to be turned down. 

She went out on patrols. She waited. She did not worry, she did not fret. She put her entire energy into protecting the kingdom, into defeating its enemies. She drank Galion’s bottle dry. And then, a week or so later, Tauriel was at her post when she noticed, from far off, a movement in the trees. Two Elves emerged from the gloom, and one of them was unmistakably Lothwen.

Tauriel nearly fell out of her tree in her eagerness to greet them. 

“Careful,” Lothwen said, too late, for Tauriel had already embraced her before noticing that her left arm was bound on a sling against her side. 

“I thought you were dead, I thought you had -- and the dragon --” Tauriel’s voice dried up as she noticed for the first time that the Elf with Lothwen was someone she had never seen before. He gave a polite bow, and Lothwen nodded to him. He was tall, unremarkable, and Noldorin. 

“Tauriel, this is Gelmir, lately of Imladris, and Gelmir, this is Tauriel of the Elven Guard.” 

Tauriel bowed, for politeness’ sake, and though she would have liked to, could not entirely ignore Gelmir as they made their way back to the halls. It did not seem to matter, for Gelmir and Lothwen conversed with the ease that came from familiarity, and Tauriel tried her best not to be jealous. 

“Ah, but what do you think of this news from Erebor?” Gelmir asked, in a light tone that belied the worried expression on his face. 

“There is no news from Erebor, unless the dragon sees fit to send it,” Tauriel said, her resolution to be polite quickly forgotten. 

Lothwen shot her a disapproving look, which Tauriel ignored. 

“Yes, well,” Gelmir said uncomfortably, “my lord Elrond will no doubt have some words to say about it to your king when next they meet.” 

“Thranduil is a good king,” Lothwen said, in a low voice, “though his decisions can seem abrupt by those who are not familiar with his ways.” 

“I think he did right,” Tauriel said loudly, rankling at Lothwen’s tone. She stared at her, as if looking at her for the first time. “Surely you of all people cannot hold so much pity in your heart for dwarves?” 

“Because I am from Doriath?” Lothwen stopped walking and stood in the middle of the path. 

“Yes.” 

“You are still young in the ways of the world, Tauriel, and there are some things that you do not yet understand,” Lothwen said slowly. Tauriel, stung, brushed past her and Gelmir and walked ahead. They walked in silence until the trees thinned and the river lay before them, sparkling in the noon-day sun. Over the bridge lay the halls of the Elven King. 

“I must return to my post,” Tauriel said at last, and after a stiff farewell to Lothwen and Gelmir, she turned to go. 

“Tauriel!” It was Lothwen, running up the path to her. She took Tauriel’s hand before the latter could pull away. “We will speak about this later.” And she looked so sincere, and in not a little pain, that Tauriel at last nodded, albeit reluctantly. 

She watched as Lothwen turned away, and disappeared down the path. 

*****

It was not for another month until Tauriel’s time at the borders ended, and she returned to the halls. By that time, Gelmir had returned to Imladris and Lothwen’s arm was out of its sling. They did not have much time to speak with each other, and, according Midhwen, who was accorded by all to be wise in the ways of gossip, there was talk of sending her on an extended diplomatic mission to Lothlórien. 

“I cannot see the reason for it myself,” Midhwen said to the crowd of Elves that surrounded her. “Lothwen has never been what you’d call diplomatic.” 

“Ai, Midhwen, they should send you!” someone called out, to the amusement of the crowd. 

“Oh yes, and have the Lady learn all of my secrets, I suppose.” Midhwen sniffed. “And you needn’t look so satisfied, Hinnor, I know quite a few of your secrets as well!” And as aside, she said, “Though it is true that I would not mind going to Lórien again. There are three brothers there who do some very interesting things with blindfolds and rope...” 

Tauriel, who lurked on the edges of the crowd, did not wait to hear the rest of her aunt’s story. Instead, she resolved to put aside her hurt pride for a moment and see Lothwen as soon as she could. 

Lothwen was nowhere to be see in the halls, nor outside in the clearing, where torches had been lit. Already, there were people dancing, though the music consisted of a single pipe. 

“Tauriel, wait,” someone called behind her. She turned to see Legolas coming towards her. There was no avoiding him, and though usually Tauriel managed to be quite patient with the prince, tonight, her replies to his questions (inevitably about the patrol they had gone on that afternoon) were quite short. 

Legolas paused for a moment and looked her, his expression one of gentle confusion. “Is something wrong?” 

“Not at all, my lord,” Tauriel said, “I only … I wish to know if there is any truth to the rumor of Lothwen being sent away to Lórien.” 

“Not that I know of,” Legolas said. “If anything, I had heard that she wishes to travel of her own accord. Perhaps to Imladris, or more westward still. My father believes that she intends to sail. Anyway, about the patrol...” 

“Excuse me,” Tauriel said, and off she went to the first place she could think of -- Lothwen’s room. It was located down a long corridor, and when she knocked on the door, there was no reply. Tauriel strained her ears to hear any noise from the other side, and after a few moments of silence, she heard it. 

“Lothwen! Open up,” she said. “Please.” 

And Lothwen did -- with a frosty look upon her face. They stared at each other for a moment before Lothwen moved aside to let her in. 

Lothwen’s room was in disarray, clothes and weapons, books and scrolls all jumbled on the floor and her bed. This was unusual enough to make Tauriel pause. The open trunk at the foot of the bed was also a clue that something new was afoot. 

“So it’s true! You are sailing to Valinor, and you are leaving me behind,” Tauriel said, her voice trembling despite herself. 

“Sit down, Tauriel,” Lothwen said, folding up a tunic. 

Tauriel obeyed with a huff, and as soon as she did, she set off. “How could you even consider it? It was you who said that life in Valinor would be stultifying and boring. Do you hate me that much?” 

“Have I ever given you the impression that I hated you? I assure you, it’s quite the opposite.” Lothwen sat next to her, and took Tauriel’s hand. Tauriel was undecided as to whether she she should push her away, and pull her closer. In the end, she decided on the latter. Her mouth grazed Lothwen’s cheek. 

Lothwen turned to look to face her, eyes dark. 

“By why then are you leaving?” 

“Because I am -- I am old, Tauriel, and I am tired,” Lothwen said, “and every day, I feel time close tighter around me. I need peace.”

“You have told me that Valinor offers little rest, or peace. It is only more hierarchy, piled on top of each other! Undying it is, and unchanging. But there can be no life where there is no change.” 

“I have not said all of that, I think,” Lothwen said wryly. 

Tauriel shook her head. “Isn’t it true?” 

“Perhaps. But that is not all there is to it. Tauriel we have not talked about this -- though we should have, I blame myself. When I am with you, it is possible to recapture how the world felt when I was young. When everything could change, and so could I. But it is not -- we are not the same. I was wrong to involve you in all of this.” She wave a vague wave of her hand, encompassing herself and her bed, her room. 

Tauriel shook her head, vehemently, but Lothwen went on. 

She said, “We never talked about death, or what could come afterwards.” 

“You’re not dying,” said Tauriel, punctuating every word with a soft kiss on Lothwen’s face and neck. 

“And you’re not being fair,” Lothwen said, turning her face towards Tauriel’s, her eyes suspiciously bright. 

“Don’t go,” Tauriel said, in between kisses. Her braid had come loose somehow -- these festival plaits were never as reliable as the way she wore her hair during patrols. Her dress -- one of the few she owned -- went over her head. “Stay with me.” 

“And if some Orcish arrow should tear through me, and stop my heart?” 

“Then I shall brave the boredom of Valinor to find you.” 

“How courageous you are, love,” Lothwen said, detangling herself well enough to reach for the lamp, which she blew. 

Tauriel said, a little smugly, “Yes, I like to think so.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Tehta and Himring, for your invaluable help. This would have been much worse without the two of you.


End file.
